


Quite a year

by kiwialicat



Series: Quite a day [2]
Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Old School, Retirement, Smut, pup's amazing year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 15:37:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13251276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwialicat/pseuds/kiwialicat
Summary: You hadn’t done it before, marked me like that.  Not intentionally, which this was.  Your mouth sliding over my skin as your hand fisted desperately in my hair.  There was an urgency there I hadn’t ever felt from you, and I went with it.One year since it began, Huss makes an announcement, the boys talk about their feelings, and the sexytime ensues.Follows on from 'Quite a day'.





	Quite a year

There had been clues.  Subtle ones.  But nonetheless, clues I should have picked up on. Still, with all the knowledge of hindsight, would I have been able to make this go another way?

Movement catches my eye before the voice of my coach gets my attention.  I look up to see Mickey striding over.  It’s early still.  I’m flicking through the paper and finishing off my breakfast before the team bus leaves for training in an hour.  It’s rare I get time to do anything this normal these days, and the interruption’s almost got a certain air of inevitability about it as Mickey’s slightly troubled expression gains my full attention.

“Michael, we need to grab you for a quick meeting.”

My eyes pinch together and I look around.  I don’t know whether you’re avoiding my gaze or the gaze of everyone else in the room, but it takes a second to realise you’re there, behind Mickey, obviously about to be part of whatever this quick meeting is about.

I take a beat before responding, “Sure…here?” I start to shuffle the papers together I’ve managed to spread around me.

“No. We’ll grab one of the conference rooms.”

I meet Mickey’s direct stare and it’s enough, along with the tone in his voice, to make my stomach tense up.

“Mate, this better not be about another injury.” I try and add a joking tone, more for my own benefit than anyone else’s. 

All I get in response is Mickey straightening up slightly and turning side-on to signal he’s wanting to get moving.

“Huss.” I nod and smile at you, greeting you casually as we draw level, and putting on the good front that we’d both become used to over the last year.  Belying the fact that you’d slipped out of my hotel room only an hour ago.

You nod back, but there’s something there.  This is about you.  It can only be.

We find a ridiculously large room, completely empty apart from rows of chairs set up for a seminar.  I look around, for a second stuck for where to sit before Mickey pulls a couple of chairs together.  I fall down into one, Mickey at my side, and you in front, facing us.

Still, you won’t meet my eyes.  My gaze falls on your neck and it reminds me.  My hand lifts and I rub self-consciously at the right side of my neck, just below the collar of my shirt.  And now, you look at me, and your face registers something close to amusement as you realise what I’m doing. I jerk my hand away, a little too quickly, and Mickey flicks his gaze at me.  I smile, willing myself to relax and trying to sink down into my shirt a little so he can’t see it.  You hadn’t done it before, marked me like that.  Not intentionally, which this was.  Your mouth sliding over my skin as your hand fisted desperately in my hair.  There was an urgency there I hadn’t ever felt from you, and I went with it.  I guess that’s why I let you.  Your lips travelled over my neck finally settling on a spot before I felt your teeth and your tongue, working at my flesh.  My whole body ached for everything you had to give, so I let it happen.  This morning, standing in front of the harsh light of the bathroom mirror, surveying the reddening mark on my lower neck I felt a moment of panic.  I almost jumped in surprise as your arms slid round me from behind and your eyes met mine in the mirror.

“It’s not that bad.”

I ran my fingers over the offending mark, looking at your reflection as if I was staring down a naughty schoolboy.

“You’re kidding, right?”

But I can’t be angry at you.  You don’t let me.  Your mouth drops to my shoulder as you hold me back against you and kiss over my pale skin.

Your words are mumbled into my flesh, but I can make them out.  I’ve had practise, afterall.

“I’ve put my mark on you.  We can cover it up.”

I try not to think what that means.  You’ve marked me.  You want to show me, and maybe other people too, that I belong to you in some way.  More and more lately, I’m realising that I do belong to you, and that this might all be utterly hopeless.  All that we are doing could break us apart and ruin everything.  And yet, it’s there.  The undeniable part of me that wants to be claimed, and owned and possessed by you.

Sinking into the attention, my head tilting to the side, I respond, “how? Don’t tell me you carry a bag of makeup with you on tour.”

You grin, your lips still pressed into my skin.

“No, but I’m thinking I might start.”

I can’t help but smile, remembering your words, only spoken a couple of hours before now, but still, seemingly from some entirely different world to this one.

Across from me, you can see my expression, plain as day, and I wonder if it’s obvious what you’ve made me remember.

“So Huss, what’s this all about?” Mickey drags us back to the present. 

The words seem to tumble out, and I wonder how many times you’ve rehearsed this before now.

I miss most of it.  My mind caught in a thick black fog. There’s nothing to say to make this easier.  It’s one simple fact.  You’re retiring.  Sydney is your last test.  End of story.

I hear and feel Mickey’s tension alongside me.  He says all the things a coach is supposed to say. 

“You’ve got time to think about this, Mike.  You know how much you mean to this team and to Australia.  If there’s anything we can do to help with this, we will.”

I just want to ask, why now?  I want to know why in all the time we’ve spent together, you never gave me a clue.  Or, maybe you did.  Yes, hindsight is indeed a wonderful thing.

Someone’s at the door, and it’s open before I can make a fool of myself with any of the questions swimming around in my mind.

“Michael, you’ve got interviews, and the bus leaves in 45.”

It’s our media liaison. I nod, my hands resting on my knees in resignation, before I stand slowly.

I look at you, waiting until I have your attention. “I want to talk about this later.”

You nod.  I almost feel sorry for you in advance.  Almost, if only I weren’t so damned angry at you.

*

You’re the only person that doesn’t wait to be asked into my room.  You knock and open the door with my spare key card.  I’m on the phone, another interview.  It’s been a busy and trying day.  We lost Tony Greig, and we lost you.  I glance up, half hoping you’d bought a bottle of aged Scotch with you, not that I enjoy the stuff.  It just feels like one of those days when hard liquor is all you have left.

You do have something with you though.  A small bag from David Jones that you place on the table before sliding into one of the chairs pushed under it.  You must feel damn awkward, waiting for me like this, but it’s nothing new, not now the world is constantly at my door.  Still, today is no ordinary day.

I don’t attempt to end the phone call quickly, half knowing I’m buying myself some time.  I’d spent a lot of the day in the nets going through conversations with you in my mind.  You’d come up to me at one point, as we were about to change over, and I was heading off to fielding drills, and you’d started to say something.

“This doesn’t change anything.”

For a second, standing staring at you, I could see that you actually believed it.  You’ve just changed everything, and yet, you can deny it all.  I bite my lip, close to screaming at you.  I could have wielded my bat and knocked some sense into you, had I not been me, and you not been you.

“Tonight.  We’ll talk.”

It’s all you get. I want you to spend the day changing your mind.  As if seeing my reaction is all the convincing you need.  Yes, you _were_ crazy to retire at the top of your game, when your country needs you so much.  When I need you.

Ending the phone call and throwing my mobile onto the bedside table, it’s clear that your mind hasn’t been changed at all.  There’s a grim determination about your face.

“What’s that?” I nod towards the bag on the table.

You look at it, almost as if you’d forgotten having dropped it there minutes before.

“Oh I…bought you something.”

You grab the bag and stand, moving close to the end of the bed before tossing it towards me.

I can’t help but smile a little as I pull the small rectangular box from the bag, my dull mood instantly forgotten.

“You bought me makeup?” it occurs to me to ask when you had time, but I abandon the question.

“I bought you concealer.”

I fiddle with the box, getting it open and pulling out a small plastic tube.

“You realise I have no idea what do with this stuff right?  And, you realise I’m still angry as fuck at you?”

I can’t keep any sort of hard edge attached to my words.

You stand, awkwardly, hands shoved into your track pants pockets.

“So…yell at me then.  Tell me why you’re angry.”

I pause, knowing that’s what I’d been planning to do all day, but somehow, all I want when I look at you, is to make your discomfort go away.

“Come here.” My words are soft, and I hope you pick up on the tone.

I pat the bed alongside me and you kick off your shoes and socks before gratefully crawling into the bed and settling on your side next to me.

We stay like that a few moments, with me turning the tube in my hands several times, reading the tiny writing on it without taking any of it in, until my eyes fall on one word.

“Ivory?”

You nod, your eyes lighting in the first smile I’ve seen from you in hours.

“Yeah, that’s you.  Ivory boy.”

“Isn’t ivory white?”

“Hmm, more off-white.  You’re pretty pale, Pup.”

I toss the concealer on the bed with a light sigh, knowing I can’t put this off any longer.

I lean back, and turn my head to watch you.

“So why now?”

You visibly draw in a breath before replying.  Your voice slightly weary, and almost cautious sounding as if you’re trying to convince yourself of your reasoning all over again.

“All those things I said this morning.  I just don’t have the passion for it anymore.”

It’s a good reason.  You don’t need any other reason.  And now, meeting your eyes, and seeing the tired expression reflected there, I know these aren’t just words.  You feel this, and I’m not likely to do or say anything to change your mind.  Still, there’s part of me that has to try.

“It’s been a good year.  The best.  For both of us.”

You smile again, “for you it has.”

I shake my head, feeling that same pinch of frustration I get whenever you put yourself down in any way.

“I wouldn’t have achieved anything this year without you at the other end, keeping me going.  You can go on, you know.  You’re good enough to play past 40.”

“Michael, you’ve said it yourself, you don’t see yourself playing into your late thirties, so you can’t expect me to change my mind because you say a couple of nice things about me.”

I feel slightly stung, but it was inevitable we’d swap some words neither of us wanted to hear.

I shuffle down onto the bed, rolling on my side to face you and mirror your position on the mattress.

“I wish you’d told me.”

“I _did_ tell you.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t know.  I thought you were having a good year.  I thought you were looking forward to next year in the same way I am.”

You look at me, considering. “You couldn’t have changed my mind, you know.  You still can’t.”

“I could have tried to make it better for you though. If it was getting that hard.  We could have talked some stuff through.”

Your expression changes, your eyes widening a little, a smile creasing them up along with your lips.

I’m surprised when you reach out a hand and run your rough fingers down my jawline before tracing them slowly down my arm.

“And what makes you think you haven’t made this better?  What makes you think I wouldn’t have walked away 12 months ago if not for you, and how fucking amazing you’ve been.  I’ve spent a year, watching you bat like a man possessed.  You’ve inspired me to stick around and be as good as I could be.  But now…I can’t do it for another year.  It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

The ten year old boy inside me wants to yell and stamp my feet and tell anyone who’ll listen that none of this is fair.  Leaving your country when they’re about to go into a mammoth Ashes series, is nowhere near fair. That leaving me on my own like this isn’t fair. 

“Michael?”

I don’t realise how dark my expression has become, until I meet your eyes, and see the concern painted there.  Your hand is cupping my face again, your thumb rubbing gently over my lips.

“I’m not leaving you, you know.”  As if you can read my mind.

Those words when I hear them, make me feel like a lead weight is suddenly gone from my chest, my arms and legs.

“I know we don’t talk about this stuff, haven’t talked about it…but we need to.”

It feels like our roles are reversed.  People have always said you would make a great captain, and I’ve never disagreed with them.

Warm lips press to both my eyelids.

“Mmm, you smell good.”

I grin, in spite of myself. “I thought we were talking about serious stuff here?”

I hear a chuckle rumble through your chest.

“Oh, we are.  You also feel bloody incredible.”

I let you pull me in towards you then, as you fall onto your back and tuck my head comfortably against your shoulder.

“That phone’s not going to ring is it?” you ask with more interest than necessary.

My fingers idly traces circles on your stomach.

“It might.  People want my comment on your retirement.”

I feel your nod against the top of my head before you press your lips to my hairline.

“So, in all seriousness,” I consciously make myself breathe as the words vibrate through your body, “we’ve been doing this a while now, and I need you to know a few things.”

I will my fingers to keep moving, “go on, I’ll try not to bolt out the door.”

I try and imagine the mix of amusement and concern on your face.

“When we started this, I didn’t imagine for a second we’d still be here a year later. It was fun, that first night, but as soon as it happened, all those reasons why it shouldn’t happen again came at me.”

I stay silent, not knowing if you want me to prompt you or agree.

“I admitted right away that I had got lucky.  Like, really fucking lucky, and I should just count those lucky stars and hope things go back to normal without you looking at me every day and thinking it had all been a huge embarrassing mistake.”

I tense up.  I can’t help it.  This is where I want to reassure you.  Tell you that far from being a mistake, that night had been one of the best of my life.  I somehow manage to stop myself.  I know you want to talk, and that I’ll get to talk later.

I feel your fingers brush the top of my head before you run them lightly through my hair.

“And then, you surprised me.  Not for the first time.  You came back and wanted me again.  Don’t get me wrong, there were moments, during those nights at the beginning that I wondered which night would be the last.  When were you going to come to your senses, get bored and move on.  I should have just stopped it, but I wasn’t strong enough to.  You’re too fucking addictive.  Still are.  Like some damn human drug.”

Your fingers press gently into my scalp and I sigh lightly.

“I think I realised the day Ricky announced his retirement that all of this actually meant something to you.  The way you reacted, the way you were that night.  Do you remember?”

I finally raise my head a little, so I can see you.  “I’m surprised you have to ask.  You’ve still got the scars and I still think about it when I see them.”

I settle down again, my body already heating slightly at the memory of the night I practically attacked you.  My fingers and nails clawing at you in my desperation.  And you let me.  You knew what I needed and didn’t question it.  The next morning, you slept, and I watched you, the sheets falling off your hips revealing bruises.  A particularly angry looking mark on your back where I’d drawn blood.  I never asked what you told your wife about it.

“I don’t know if you were afraid then of losing someone else, or if you just felt it so much that you realised what you had.”

My stomach swims a little at the words.  I can’t deny any of them.  I marvel at how easy you’re making this for me.

“Of course, I could have all of this completely wrong.”

I roll slowly off you to look at you carefully before you speak again.

“And if I do, well, that’ll be bloody embarrassing, won’t it?”

I want more than anything to tell you it’s all true.  For once, words escape me and I can only do what comes naturally when I’m around you, and draw your head down to mine to join our lips.

It’s sort of slow at first, and I just enjoy the warmth of your mouth against mine, the roughness of stubble against my skin, and your breath mingling with my own.  I feel your fingers slip around the back of my neck as you increase the urgency.  I open my mouth to you as I have done countless times before, and your tongue glides across mine.  It takes a second to realise I’ve pushed my knee between your legs to part them and tease at your growing erection.  It’s become second nature to be like this with you.  We seem to just fit together, as if we were made for this.

When you pull back, gasping slightly, your large pupils reflecting the intensity of everything I’ve just thrown into the kiss, you know.

“You’re a crafty bastard, Hussey.”

My voice is rough with desire, but still cheeky and playful as I catch my breath.

You raise an eyebrow as if to ask the silent question, “who me?”

“There you are, baring your soul, wearing your heart on your sleeve, when all you’re really doing is trying to get me to say what you know I feel but have been too much of a pussy to get out.”

You grin, an almost satisfied smug.

“You know, if I do it, you’ve got to do it too.”

You laugh, shaking your head with a devilish grin.  “I don’t think it works quite like that.”

I glare at you, mockingly, knowing we’re heading towards what we both want, and knowing that your little announcement this morning has only been the catalyst to get us to this inevitable point sooner.

I move, quickly, to straddle your body, sitting back in your lap as my arms loop around your neck.  Your hands rest on my sides.

“You know you’re going to have to help me with the makeup thing.” I whisper close to your lips.

“Goes without saying.” Your nose bumps mine. “Anything else?” you regard me innocently.

“Hmmm…yeah…I love you, Michael Hussey.”

It’s not a revelation to you, but perhaps it is to me.  Still, seeing your face as I tell you, makes me want to tell you over and over again at every opportunity.

“Yeah?” I feel your hands slide down to cup my arse. “I think you’d better prove it then.”

I smirk, ridiculously pleased with being ordered to do very bad things to you, and let one hand wander under your shirt to play over your toned stomach as I stay close to your lips.

“You know, you’d better not let yourself go once you stop playing.” I nip gently at your lower lip, feeling you squirm under my touch, as I grin in amusement.

My fingers drop to the draw string on your pants and tug it open, unceremoniously shoving my hand in between skin and elastic. 

“Oh…no undies.  Why Mr Hussey, did you think you were getting lucky tonight?  When you’ve been such a bad, bad boy?”

Your face is a mix of lust and amusement as my fingers find your very interested cock and circle its girth.

“Fuck…listen to the mouth on you…next you’ll be taking me over your knee for a…a spanking.”

I grin at the hitch in your words, letting my hand fist up and down your cock, applying more pressure as it thickens and fills.

“Well maybe if you ask very _very_ nicely…” I let my teeth bite down and tug at your bottom lip, my thumb sliding up to work over the head of your cock, the feeling of moisture there, making my body heat that little bit more.

“Mmn…clothes…too many…clothes…”

It’s as familiar to me as night and day, and yet every time you tell me you want me naked, it’s like a revelation. I scramble backwards pushing hurriedly at my own shorts, not for the first time being grateful of working in a profession where loose fitting clothing is the norm.  My shirt is next and when both are tossed over the side of the bed I reach for your shirt, pulling it up with little care for your comfort, before yanking it over your head and digging my fingers into your pants to tug them down over your hips as you lift up.

“Eager, Pup?” I smile sheepishly, not really too aware of just how furiously I’d been clawing at your clothes until you reach out for me and pull me close for a settling kiss.

“Hey…” resting your forehead to mine, you whisper in the small space between us, “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to rush this, or us.” I am back straddling your thighs again, and I will myself to slow down and relax as I watch your hands reach out and rest on my chest.

My breathing is anything but slow, but I let you work your hands over my body in your own time, your eyes following carefully, as if they can’t lose contact with your hands, or you’ll lose me entirely.

I resist the urge to let out a muted sound as your palms press over my nipples.  It’s obvious you want to take your time with this.  There’s something new in your expression, like you’re seeing something for the first time.

Your words are quiet, filled with something close to admiration, and it makes my cheeks redden.  For all the attention I get, it’ll never sit well, especially when it comes to comments about my appearance.  I’ve always wanted to separate that from what I do on the field.  How I look, is not who I am or what I do.

“You’re stunning.  Like someone made you in a wax museum.”

I suck in my top lip, half to stop myself from denying it, and half to stop the breathy sound that wants to fall from my mouth.

I feel your hands slide lower, fingertips gliding over my stomach, making my muscles tighten up under them.

“I’m glad I get to appreciate all your hard work.”

My lip quirks up, I can’t help myself. “I have a feeling I’ll get to appreciate _your_ hard work shortly too.”

You look at me, your eyes filled with that dark hungry lust I secretly hope you reserve for me alone.

I feel your strong hands slide down my sides and around my back, as you pull me closer, your mouth against the side of my head as you murmur in a tone that makes me all but come on the spot.

“I’m going to have you on my cock.” You emphasise this by letting one hand slide lower, pressing a warm finger between my arse cheeks, as you rub expertly over my hole. “Mmm…and you’re going to come, just like this, where I can watch you and feel it all over me.”

My mouth falls open as I push back onto your teasing finger. You’re not often like this with me, giving me these words that would sit well in a hard-core porn movie, even though you know what it does to me, or maybe even because of that.  Maybe now, when you’ve pulled those three little words out of me, you won’t be afraid to give me everything, and expect everything in return.

Your other hand leaves me, fumbles for something in the bedside draw.  I recognise the object as my eyes focus in front of me, and think about how familiar we’ve become that you can find the lube without looking.  I take it, awaiting the instructions I know you’re about to give me.

You don’t drop the voice, dripping with sex, and my mouth goes dry, wondering if you could make me come with these words alone.  I resolve to let you try, but not tonight, not now when I need to feel you, and be connected, perhaps like never before.

“Get me nice and wet, and then I want you to finger yourself…just like this, so I can watch your face while you do.”

I nod, taking the tube, my usually dextrous fingers the only thing giving away the effect you’re having on me.

You know though, as you grin at me, your eyes echoing the amusement on your face as I fumble the cap off and squirt far too much onto my palm.

“Careful now, we wouldn’t want to run out before morning.”

I want to wipe the smarmy grin off your face, and I do my best by grabbing your cock with very little warning, the liquid in my hand far from warm yet, and your eyes show clearly your surprise at the cool sensation across your sensitive flesh.

I don’t get to appreciate my handiwork for too long.  Your cock is too hard and thick in my hand, and it makes me want to sink down on top of you right then and there.  I watch your eyes roll back in your head as my slick fist travels up and down.  For all the power I possess, some say more than the Prime Minister, I never feel as powerful as this moment makes me.

Your teeth grit, and your hand somehow finds its way around my wrist.

You wait until I lock eyes with yours, heavy lidded, all semblance of control long-gone.

“I don’t want to come in your hand.”

And as much as I enjoy this, and would love making you come like this, I can’t disagree.  I let you go, seeing the soft sigh fall from your lips as your straining cock falls from my grasp.

I waste no time in squeezing more lube onto my fingers, waiting until I have your full attention again before lifting up and moving my hand back behind me.  The movement choreographed, as per your earlier instructions.

I shuffle my legs apart slightly, making a show of licking my lips as I let my wet fingers press in close, rubbing up and down between my cheeks, finding my opening and teasing over it, making me sink down slightly against the stimulation.

Your head moves forward to rest against mine as your hand hooks around my neck again.

The breath is all but dragged from your lungs. “Talk to me, tell me what you’re doing…how it feels.”

I let my finger circle my hole, telling you as I do.

I feel one of your hands slide down my back, your fingers pressing firmly into my arse before they brush mine.

“There’s nothing on this planet as hot as you. Mmm…I think you need some help.”

You pull back a little, so you can see my face. “Go on, do it…put it in.”

I feel your fingertips rub against my index finger as I ease it into my arse.  You can see the change in my expression.  I sink down again as I push up as far as I can, my body swallowing the single finger.

Your fingers press in closer, rubbing at the muscle stretched around me.

“I…” I swallow, trying to put some words together that sound half as spicy as yours.

“Go on…how does it feel?”

“It’s tight…hot…hungry.”

You seem pleased at this last admission, and wet your lips in admiration, pushing your finger against mine, and easing it in alongside my own.

“Yeah, it really is.” Your mouth ghosts over mine, “I can’t be doing my job properly.”

I let you work your finger in and out, trying to move my own finger in time as I start to raise and lower myself.

“I think you should save all that effort for my cock.”

I wrap my arm around your shoulder, sinking down hard one final time before pulling my finger out. I can’t disagree.

I move my mouth close to your ear.

“I can’t wait any longer.” To emphasise the point I curl my fingers around your cock, still throbbing and hot between us.

The noise you make is as close to a whimper as I’ve ever heard come from your lips.  I lift up, moving over you, letting you help me guide your cock between my slippery cheeks.

I finally feel the solid head of your cock, pressing in, insistent, and along with it, your hips push up.  I move against you, rubbing myself over the leaking head, watching the desperation grow on your face.

“Fucking cock-tease.”

I’d laugh, if I didn’t feel just as desperate as you.  Without any warning I sink down hard, feeling the blunt head enter me, pushing me open and stretching my body as you claim me again, as you have done so many times in the last year.

“Oh…oh fuck…that’s it…”

I’m not even aware it’s my own voice, until I hear yours.

“You really know how to take my cock.  I’m keeping you.”

I can only nod, dipping my head to kiss your neck as my eyes pinch shut and I let you fill me completely, despite the discomfort of taking you inside me so quickly.

You let out a shaky breath as my body completely surrounds your cock.

I breathe hard, adjusting to being filled, and enjoyed the feeling of being connected to you like this.

“How did your cock get so big?”

Your shaky fingers brush through my hair down and down my back.

“How did your arse get so tight?”

I buck my hips forward, again without warning, to accentuate the tightness.  I can tell you like this.  Your fingers curl and nails press into my skin, no doubt marking me, and I love it.

“Christ Pup.”

I’ll never think of my nickname in quite the same way again after this year.

Your fingers search for my cock, gripping and squeezing as your other hand slides over my hip to help guide my movements on top of you.

“Yeah…good boy…fuck yourself on me.”

And I do just what you tell me to.  I think at this moment I’d jump off the nearest tall building, if that’s what you really wanted.

I rock forward, panting into the hot space between us, making my muscles as tight as I can around you.

“I’m not a boy.” I manage to somehow form these words so you understand, though there’s nothing in my tone that would lead anyone to take me seriously.

You arch up in response, pushing deep into me as you hold me down.  I may not be a boy, but I’m not in charge here.

Your hand moves from my hip to grip my hair, focusing my gaze on yours.  Your words are harshly whispered.  Your dry throat struggling to form them.

“You’re _my_ boy.”

And I lose it.  My movements grow close to frantic as I start to raise and lower myself onto you, feeling the fire building in the pit of my stomach as I do.  I register the fine sheen of sweat on the surface of your skin as you move my hips again, wanting more friction against your aching cock.

“Please…” I pause between words to gather a breath, “let me have it…come inside me.”

As if there was some way to make you orgasm on command.  It’s at least enough to make you want to give me what I ask as soon as you can.  You thrust up off the bed, pushing desperately into me, almost like you want to bury yourself so far inside me I can’t get you out again.

“Perfect…you’re…so…”

I’m only vaguely aware of your eyes on me as you mutter these words.  My body strains, my skin taut across my muscles as the rough push of your cock against my prostate takes me over the edge.

I’m not sure if I beat you to it.  Time seems to blur, and the only thing I’m aware of is your hot wet cum filling me and your rough breathing and muttered words as you grip my body, riding it out.

I watch the hot ribbons coating your chest as I milk my cock, marking your skin.

It’s an erotic sight and it makes me want to do this all over again, as soon as my body will let me.

You slump back, finally sated, and I try and hold myself upright on top of you as I will my breathing back to normal.

“Perfect,” you whisper out, finally completing your sentence.

I shake my head, hoping that words will come out when I open my mouth.

“You great big flatterer.” I lean down closer, pressing my torso against yours, and feeling your softening cock slide across my sensitive muscles.

“It’s alright, you know, you’ve got me, you don’t have to try and keep me.”

You regard me curiously for a moment.

“Have I?  Have I got you?”

The air suddenly feels thick between us.

I smile, nodding slowly.  “Yeah, you’ve got me.” And the mood changes.  As if we’ve both let out breaths we didn’t know we were holding.

I let you cup my face in your hands, directing my gaze, keeping me like this so that when your words come, you have my full attention.

“And just in case you were wondering, I love you too, Michael Clarke.”

 

END


End file.
